


The Most Beautiful Flower

by Shadowkat678



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 18:30:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20363107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowkat678/pseuds/Shadowkat678
Summary: They say it's always the most beautiful flowers that bud the smallest, bloom the latest, and wilt the fastest. A Lily is no exception...





	The Most Beautiful Flower

The viewing took place November fifteenth, held at a church located in Cokeworth, childhood town of Lily Potter. 

The sky was overcast that day and the wind blew bitterly cold. It was snowing early that year, and each time he saw a snowflake fall he couldn't help but compare it to her. Its whiteness to the whiteness of her cheek. Its beauty to her own. He paid little attention to the messy haired man lying still in the coffin beside her, with dark hair just as messily tousled as it was in life. No, he didn't matter. Not anymore. All he had eyes for was the woman, her red hair laid out gracefully in a cloud around her shoulders, and her emerald eyes closed. Lily might have been sleeping for the image was so peaceful. Yet even the preservation charm couldn't hide the slight tinge of blue in her lips, or paleness of her once bright cheeks.

Why do people always want to pretend that death is sleep? It's not. When you sleep you wake up, but Lily never would, and her eyes would never open again.

No one noticed as the greasy haired, hooked nosed man at the back of the crowd slipped silently out of the church courtyard, desperate to escape the droning of the tall wizard upfront.

It was always the same speech, no matter who it was that gave it. "They'll be missed greatly. They were good people." Sometimes even the, "They'll be in a better place now." There was no emotion to their words. Just the flat voice of a well-rehearsed speech spoken one too many times. As if the man knew her. As if any of them really knew her. Knew either of them. Half of the people at the viewing probably never met Lily or James Potter let alone felt anything when they died besides a sick relief at the war's long awaited end. They weren't there to mourn. They were there to celebrate the Potter's son. No one would remember the little girl Lily was, or the way she laughed, or how her hair flew behind her when she ran. They'd never know the woman who always went out of her way to help others, even when it was at her own expense. No one would remember the way her eyes lit up when she smiled, or those small acts of kindness for the nine year old boy with the bruises and mismatched clothes no one else bothered to see. To history, she'd simply be the mother of the Boy-Who-Lived and nothing more. And James, they'd call him a hero. No one would remember the stuck up arrogant bully he'd always been.

No, they'd only remember the names, never the people attached to them. With history, with people, and with time it was always the same outcome.

Somewhere behind him the church bell gonged noon, its tone ringing deep and solemn as he trudged through the deserted streets, with trampled snow crunching softly underfoot. Severus pulled his winter cloak tighter, but he knew it wasn't just the cold air that sent a chill ripping up his spine. His cloak could never be warm enough to melt the block of ice growing around his heart.

Eventually, the previously neat buildings made way to a roughly cobbled street, with its rows upon rows of dilapidated houses. The rundown brick chimney in the distance, all that was left of the factory that gave Spinner's End it's name, dominated the background. Branching off the main road, he continued on in bitter silence with the smell of the stagnant stream running at the edge of the neighborhood drifting to him through the air.

Snape reached the last house on Spinner's end and pulled his wand from his pocket to magically unlock his door. He went to enter, but hesitated, his hand stopping just short of the handle. Without knowing exactly why, Severus pulled out his wand out once more and relocked it.

Severus soon he found his feet carrying him by long habit to the riverbank, and within minutes he stood once more at the spot that he'd spent so much of his childhood. It was the one place besides Hogwarts he felt at peace as the willows blew softly, trailing their branches in the lush grass at the brook's edge. If he closed his eyes, he could still see it, just as it used to be.

There was no more snow now, just grass, warm and green under the blue summer sky. Numerous flowers bloomed along the banks in the summer heat, the same flowers she so often picked and brought back for her mother. He could see himself once more as a nine year old boy, a bright eyed Lily Evans lying on the ground beside him. Even then he had loved her, loved the way she'd smile, her green eyes glowing. Severus watched a look flicker in her eyes, an unspoken promise of a secret they'd carry together. It was a look he'd never received from anyone else, a look of understanding. She never pitied him, never judged him, never gave the false words and reasurences anyone else would have. No, she just listened. Even after he'd broken that bond, she never spoke a word of what he'd told her. Unlike him, she'd kept her promise, and he almost wished she hadn't.

Just as soon as the memory came, it was gone, the moment lost once more in the stream of time. Severus reopened his eyes and let go of the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, tracing its silent white course as it rose like a silent prayer to Heaven.

Severus Snape had never claimed to be religious, never believed that such a kind, caring God could exist with the world being what it was. What God could let a nine-year-old boy watch as his mother was beaten bloody on their kitchen floor? What God could let someone Lily die as she did? What God would leave him alone? But Lily had believed there was one, and for the first time in his life, he found himself hoping there was too, even if he'd never deserve to see her again. For her sake though, Severus hoped she was right, and that her parent's Muggle religion wasn't the rubbish he'd always thought it was. No one deserved the Heaven they believed in more than she did, even if that meant he got Hell.

Snape didn't know how long he stood there, but when he left he could hardly feel his hands in his pockets. A new layer of snow had already fallen, and his footprints only reopened the wounds his previous steps had created.

The last thing he saw as he walked away was a small snowlily, barely more than a bud. It's head stuck out from under the snow, the rim of yellow running at it's petals edges the only spot of color in the whiteness that surrounded it. 

Now, many people would say that the rose is the most beautiful flower, but they were wrong. Where the rose has thorns that prick for protection, the lily hides behind nothing. It's pure and honest, small and simple, but yes, the lily is just as beautiful as the rose, resilient and stubborn enough to bloom even in the coldest and darkest of times.

As he brushed the snow off himself and entered his house, the small flower stayed in the forefront of his mind. The flower, as well as the woman who took so closely after it. In the years that followed, he'd only return to the spot once more. The following week, he too would be gone, and in his dying thoughts the flower bloomed.

With that image firm in mind, Severus Snape closed his own eyes for the final time... 


End file.
